Something changes behind me.
Wood creaks where I didn’t step.
The hallway light flickers once, then holds. I keep walking, shoulders tight, like the air knows I’m here.
Each step lands too loud on the old boards, and the echo doesn’t match.
There’s nothing behind me. I checked. But the space doesn’t feel empty.
Something changed. I stop breathing for a second. I tell myself it’s just the house settling, just the wind, just my own blood knocking.
Still, my neck prickles like it remembers teeth.
I speed up. The thing matches me, step for careful step, never close enough to see, never gone long enough to forget.
If I turned now, what would I see?
A shape wearing my shape?
A face I almost know?
Better not to look just keep walking.
The dark stays where it is. The footsteps behind me don’t.
About the Creator
Annam M Gordon
My books and writing focus on real people. These stories come from lived experience. I collaborate with individuals and mental health professionals. https://muckrack.com/annammgordon https://app.qwoted.com/sources/annam-m-gordon?
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